Etching of An Ancient Face
by LuvEwan
Summary: The Birth of Ben. ObiWan finds a new name years before he has reason to use it. One post.


**Etching of an Ancient Face**

The Birth of Ben

IIIIIOIIIII 

By LuvEwan

PG

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

_Obi-Wan finds a new name, years before he has reason to use it. A response to the Obi-Wan Character Workshop Challenge, but it went over the limit._

IIIIIOIIIII

"_Here at last_

_You see your ancient face." –Lee Alexander_

IIIIIOIIIII 

The departing footfalls scraped softly against the powdered dirt floor. The shadows of the elders stretched long, nearly touching the dark floods cast by the lone two figures remaining in the Se'harzia spirit cave.

_Spirit cave. _That in of itself had stirred skepticism in Obi-Wan Kenobi towards those things thick in mystic folklore, things that could not be explained or sorted through logical process.

His fingers ghosted along the delicate rim of the translucent bulb, which was swelling with deep liquid of a mahogany hue. The scent drifted, to skirt around his nostrils. It reminded him of the sapir tea his Master so relished. Earthy and strong. Just, he reflected with the smallest curve of his lips, like Qu-Gon Jinn himself.

Obi-Wan glanced at the man then, drinking in his appearance with the customary mélange of pride and awe.

They sat, cross-legged and facing each other, beyond the cave's craggy mouth, on the patch of hearth where black melded with the fading scarlet flourish of the day.

The liquid-filled bulb seemed to disappear within the blunt fingers, base cradled in the wide palm. To another set of eyes, it might look as though the fragile object would be crushed, but Obi-Wan knew better. Qui-Gon Jinn had the stature and intimidation befitting a giant…but his heart was that of a nurturer. Obi-Wan indeed knew this, better than anyone.

The little bulbs began to glow amber in the shifting ambience, 'set afire by the glory of the sky'.

And that's when they knew it was time.

Obi-Wan released a quiet sigh, and studied the sacred Se'harzia nectar. He felt the weight of a curious gaze, and looked up.

"My young Padawan, " Qui-Gon said, very softly, "You appear less than eager."

Despite his twenty-two years, and extensive training in control and absolute composure, Obi-Wan felt the heat of a flush start in his cheeks. "I apologize, Master. It's just…" He again regarded the bulb, perhaps so he didn't have to regard the questioning visage of Qui-Gon, "I haven't been able to conquer my own reservations about this practice."

Qui-Gon nodded slightly, studying the young man a slender distance away from him. He dearly loved his apprentice, any who disputed that had never watched him watch Obi-Wan, as the Padawan fought in a battlefield, or a contest, twisting and blocking and parrying with rare, inherent grace—or as the boy just sat silently, as he was doing now. His existence held little, if any, meaning outside of Obi-Wan. This person was the other half of his soul.

But that meant, of course, that his soul was one of great contrasts.

Some days, Qui-Gon couldn't help but marvel at how different they were, Master and apprentice. Like separate fibers of illumination within the same beam of light.

Never had he met someone with such a cautionary sense, such an outright dislike of chaos in any form.

Qui-Gon recognized his Padawan's methodical needs, and could even trace them to a specific source. Obi-Wan had suffered traumatic disruptions in his short life, from the horrors of the Bandomeer mines to the heartbreak and confusion of Melida/Daan, and the unexpected loss of Tahl. These events, especially the brief severance from the Jedi, and his consequential, _humiliating _probation, had spiked certain compulsions in Obi-Wan.

He wanted everything in its proper place, including himself.

Maybe it was this aspect of his personality that made it so difficult for Obi-Wan to accept phenomenon outside of his own spectrum. Qui-Gon was endlessly proud of Obi-Wan, and valued the levelheaded, calculated approach he brought to situations. And yet, he wished the youth would loosen the binds around his heart, to let in a bit of mystery, a taste of wonder.

There was so much the Universe had to offer, if only he would slip from the shackles he gradually, but tautly, locked around himself.

Qui-Gon was aware that Obi-Wan knew his own place, and for nine long, eventful years, that place was with his Master. Privately, Qui-Gon was concerned that this order-focused impulse would hinder Obi-Wan from a timely commencement to Knighthood. Soon, Obi-Wan would have to be shown the vitality of independence-and the importance of an open mind. Qui-Gon would not always be there to provide an opposing, maverick-like influence, to be the shadow alongside Obi-Wan's, cutting through the dust.

He could not remain with his apprentice forever…no matter how tempting the thought most assuredly was.

But there was still time. There was still today, and this strange, beautiful place. There were lessons still waiting to be taught, and a pupil who was always willing to listen. "Your reservations are a part of you, as much as anything else," The Master finally replied, "They do not need to be conquered. In most cases, they cannot be conquered."

A familiar crease formed between Obi-Wan's brows. "Should I ignore them, then?"

"No. That would be akin to denying your own basic nature. You must study them; ascertain the reason behind them. Is there danger here?"

Automatically, Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, Master."

"Are you and I at any risk of harm whatsoever?"

The same quiet, almost flat response.

"Then your reservations are not linked to a perceived threat. But there are other rationales, aren't there, Padawan?"

After a silent beat of hesitance, "Yes, Master."

"What are they?"

Obi-Wan turned briefly away, to see the dense forest as the night began to soak into every crevice. So often, his Master was a teeming well of wisdom, and he was but a sieve. What could he say to this man, that wouldn't result in rebuke or disappointment? He had to be honest. There was no other avenue he could travel, without further disappointing them both. "This…religion…it isn't mine."

"Quite correct, Obi-Wan. It isn't mine, either."

Obi-Wan traced his touch down the tiny lines of the bulb's surface. "It's unfair of them to ask this of us."

"To acknowledge their practices?"

"No," Obi-Wan negated, striving to banish the frustration from his already strained tone, "But must we defect totally to their ways? Must I lose my own identity?"

There was a kind luster in Qui-Gon's deep azure eyes, "Your identity will remain in tact." He assured the younger man.

"But not my name."

The Master smiled. "Your name doesn't define you. It is a mortal tie, not of the Force. So ultimately, it makes little difference what you're called. It's what you do that gives you your name within the Force. That is the only identity that matters."

Obi-Wan shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm being childish. You're right, Master. It's only a name."

Qui-Gon reached across the small space between them, and rested a hand on the tunic-covered shoulder. "You're not being childish. Your name has been with you since you were an infant, and it will always be with you. This is merely for the time we are on Se'harzia. And you don't have to accept their religion as your own, either. Just, for these few days, experience what it is to exist from another vantage point."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan murmured, "I'm sorry."

For a moment, Qui-Gon's worn, strangely soothing fingers drew along his student's jaw. "You needn't be sorry. What you're feeling is natural. And nature never apologizes." Then he retreated his touch, and glanced at the burgeoning twilight, "Nor does it wait. We better begin now."

Obi-Wan nodded, raising the bulb chin-level.

Qui-Gon did the same, and after a deep inhalation of the aroma, he tipped the thin edge of the primitive container to his lips, and began to drink.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He could feel his Master's calm, as the liquid slid down the man's throat. Qui-Gon was his base, the roots, and from him, Obi-Wan could branch off, to his own version of peace, to the centered plain within his mind that allowed him to lift the bulb to his waiting mouth, and take the first swallow.

It wasn't like Qui-Gon's sapir brew. It wasn't like anything Obi-Wan had ever encountered. It filled his mouth, and soon, it filled him, warming his very bones, until he was lost in its gentle deluge, the trickling from his throat down to his chest.

"Padawan?"

Throat down to his chest, and from his chest down to his core, to the nexus of himself, where there was always the slightest tremble…

"Padawan, open your eyes now."

The tremble of a distant fear, of not knowing quite what it was, the itch in the tiny patch of skin his fingers couldn't reach. He never let himself think of that fear, for it could easily consume him…and he felt that fear, punching up while the hot nectar swirled inside him…

_Padawan!_

And then Obi-Wan's eyes were open, and he was blinking furiously against the breeze.

Qui-Gon brought a hand to the damp cheek. "Are you—"

Obi-Wan shuddered, and the emptied bulb, dried out to a shriveled shell, shattered in his grip. "Anakin."

The Master frowned. "Padawan, what are y—"

"Anakin." Obi-Wan rasped, pressing his face into his hands. "Anakin. A-Anakin."

Qui-Gon went to him. He crouched in front of the flustered apprentice, and pried the clammy fingers away. Obi-Wan looked up at him then, cerulean eyes awash with diluted crimson.

"Is my name Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked, clasping onto his Master's fingers painfully tight.

"We haven't reached the Naming portion yet," Qui-Gon wiped the coursing moisture away, "We haven't painted on the Aura Markings."

This truth seemed to trespass the walls erected around Obi-Wan. He blinked again, slower, and exhaled. When his gaze met Qui-Gon's, he was ever civil, placid Obi-Wan again. "Oh."

Qui-Gon waited while a few seconds passed, during which he surveyed his student with concern. The nectar was meant to lend both focus and serenity, for the cave walk that would follow. He drank it with little change to his body or mind. Obi-Wan's reaction was inexplicable, and left the Jedi Master more than a bit worried. "Padawan, are you alright?"

Obi-Wan swallowed and sealed his eyes. "Yes, Master." His eyelids peeled back, and the orbs within were infused with that same lovely light Qui-Gon knew so well. "I'm fine. I was just…shaken."

"Are you sure you want to continue? If you want, we could wait until tomorrow."

"No," Obi-Wan insisted, moving away from the man's support. "I'm perfectly alright. Besides, we shouldn't keep the Se'harzia elders waiting another whole day."

Tentatively, "Are you sure?"

"Positive, Master." Obi-Wan smiled. The cluster of anonymous terror inside him had leapt up to his mouth, to his mind, and for a moment, he had felt the entirety and enormity of it. Now, though, it sank down to its secret haven, like the nocturnal creature slinking away from the coming sun. It had been terrible to know that fear, and know its peculiar name…but it would be worse to end it now, out of cowardice, before it could perhaps be purged from him. "Please, can we go on with it?"

The disconcertment uncoiled in Qui-Gon. He squeezed Obi-Wan's knee before he returned to his original position. "Yes, we may."

The body paint was thick, akin to black plaster, and was piled in the deep curvature of two sturdy herliaa wax leaves. Qui-Gon dipped a fingertip in, then moved on his knees to his apprentice. "The sorrow," He spoke from the ancient Se'harzia text, and ran the dark substance down Obi-Wan's skin, just beneath his eyes. The Master gathered another portion on his finger's edge, this time sweeping it from the corners of his young protégé's mouth up to the top of his cheekbones, "The joy." Lastly, he submerged his thumb in the dense, black mound, and pressed it firmly in the center of the soft forehead. "The soul."

Obi-Wan spared a slender moment to gather himself, then repeated the precise work of the Aura Markings on the unlikely canvas of Qui-Gon's rugged face.

Wordlessly, Qui-Gon helped him to his feet, and remained close to him as they began to walk into the tunnel of shadow that was the belly of the cave.

"The tribes of Se'harzia begin life with one name, and end life with another. There comes a time for each spirit to come to the Cave, to drink from the earth's nectar and attain its special peace."

This they both already knew from the mission report, but the litany was part of the tradition, so Qui-Gon recited from newly gleaned memory. As he spoke, and the darkness grew, he realized his fingers were moving, seemingly of their own accord, to entwine with Obi-Wan's. He knew what would occur, that they would eventually separate into private outcroppings of the cave.

But, regardless of his earlier anxiety towards his apprentice's reliance on him, Qui-Gon found himself wanting to abandon the entire ritual, and take Obi-Wan away from this veritable plethora of uncertainty.

He knew he could not do that. He could not enclose Obi-Wan in the seamless security of his affection.

It would only cripple him.

"Once the Aura is marked on the flesh, the spirit enters the darkness, to penetrate its own darkness, as it travels the sacred space of the Cave. Then, when the spirit has come to the end of its realms, it returns. And the name is born, from the depths of Se'harzia, from the core of the spirit."

The final word came softer than a whisper, and his fingers held only air.

IIIIIOIIIII 

He was alone.

He roamed through a void, eyes unblinking against the darkness. There had been someone with him, but he couldn't recall a face or a name.

In the tangles of his mind, he couldn't even remember his own.

He raised his arm, and his fingers pierced through the smothering black. A band of golden warmth shot out from the murk. He could feel it spread, not on his skin, but in his chest.

_This is your light._

He tried to look away from the overwhelming luminescence; it seemed that the shimmering flecks were not meant for his sight.

_All of us live beneath our own sky. _

So maybe, he reasoned, he was gazing into the sun of that sky, and was simply too close. He took a step backward, but he wasn't any further from the blinding beam.

_This is your light. From it, you should never turn away. _

He obeyed the voice, which came from within him, and from without, reverberating against the unseen walls. He didn't turn away.

And he _saw. _

The images jutted from him rapidly, disappearing inside the light, and then returned to him, completely illuminated. He could see in exquisite detail the moments that had tested him.

He saw himself, little more than a toddler, standing up to the taller, broader Bruck Chun. He saw himself walking with Bant, speaking to her quietly, as the tears began to retreat from her huge eyes. He saw himself struggling out of bed, one arm encased in a metal cast, so that he could prepare his Master's early morning tea.

He saw himself fight, longer than he wanted to view it, in more bloody and strife-torn scenery than he could possibly number. He saw himself pause in combat, surrounded by polluted blaster clouds, to touch the motionless body of a fallen innocent or comrade.

He saw his laughter. He saw his tears, for the lives that eluded his desperate attempts at salvation.

_There is no endless day, _The voice told him, _For even the brightest must give over to night._

The light became painful. His life was a mosaic, and with his sun spilling over on to it, he could see every crack that splintered through, marring the portrait.

Bruck, and a rivalry so old, the base of it was lost beneath the yellowed layers of time. The boy's taunts stirred anger in him, but the anger was merely an ugly mask for what lay beneath it.

Fear. He wasn't good enough. He would never be chosen, and would be cast away from his only home, and those he loved. He would fail. Somewhere inside, he knew.

Even when he was finally at Qui-Gon's side, the knowledge was carried with him, a fallen shard of the mosaic, slipped into his tender heart. He didn't trust the good that came to him, because there was huge failure, over the horizon.

And the betrayal on Melida/Daan, every little mistake he made, would pale beside that error, when it occurred.

A single, snaking length of crimson stained the light. It was a child's blood, dripping from the rocks. Bruck's blood.

No one blamed him. Bant was supremely grateful, as it had been her life rescued by the death. Qui-Gon tried to allay his guilt, refusing to believe his apprentice had done anything except what needed to be done.

Yet—he could feel it, the wrongness that tainted him and the light. What if the death of Bruck was not accidental, but…murder?

He plunged into a chasm, and there was no end.

The darkness was thick, and enduring. He saw himself yearning, as his Master trudged the solitary path forged by Xanatos and Tahl. He saw himself consumed by his need for his Master's acceptance, lashing out at his friends, even envying their successes.

He saw that future failure, fixed like a dark adornment in the distance.

He felt the stab of his own inadequacies, the poison of his fear.

He was on his knees, and the grit scraped against the flesh of his grasping fingers. He was gasping, panting for breath, his soul exposed and wretchedly raw, twisting to hide beneath the shields again, where it was safely hidden from outside eyes.

_Your night is not eternal._

The light draped over him, soothing and warm. It was _his _light, but there was the Force, infusing it with soft, lovely luster.

The memories coursed through him, like balm over corroding wounds. Suddenly, he knew why he could never be totally at ease, why he so often allowed the Code to lift him up, rather than the Force. The light and dark of himself interwoven, like the braid always at his shoulder.

He disappeared within himself, and there, in the center, understood.

_There is no day without night, and so, no night without day._

Balance.

He took that divine comprehension, and felt the compulsively tight, fearful fingers of his heart loosen…for they had been holding the bloody shard in place.

Peace.

He closed his eyes, and laid his face against the ground and its ancient dust.

_You, _the voice whispered, _are the summer sky. In it, the sun is conquering, and the night is short. The summer sky is Benliviah. You are Benliviah. It is the purity of your essence. _

IIIIIOIIIII 

Coolness passed over his forehead, while warmth closed in around him. He sighed, settling in to the comfort, wanting to go back to serene sleep.

"Padawan?"

He pressed his eyes shut.

_Padawan? _The summons reached him quickly and clearly. He knew he could not deflect it.

He wrestled his eyelids, and after a few, sore blinks, he was looking up at the bleary countenance of Qui-Gon Jinn, who still wore the faded paint of the Markings.

The man was smiling, his large palm resting along his apprentice's brow. "I was beginning to worry, young one. You were asleep so long."

He sighed, leaning against the gentle pressure of the hand. They were no longer in the cave; the small room was dark, but identical to the one they had left to visit the sacred Se'harzia site.

He was already drifting again when Qui-Gon spoke, "The Elders told me it was rare for someone to be affected by the Cave to the extent you were. I knew we should have postponed it."

He shook his head. "No, Master." A very small, tired smile dawned on his face. "It was for the best."

**IIIIIOIIIII **


End file.
